Developing
by SharVoss
Summary: Sherlock and John begin to realize their connection may be far beyond what they thought, but it's hard to hash that all out with a deranged psychopath haunting their steps. Considering Jim is that psychopaths's little brother, it's safe to say the worst it yet to come. AU/Johnlock/M for language
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

I do not make any claims to ownership of _Sherlock_ or its characters, only this plot line.

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall

I hope you will enjoy :)

* * *

Sherlock sat in the large blue plush chair that helped him think during a long case.

"He paid off the security guard and receptionist, retrieved the flash drive from the safe deposit box and walked out the front door with millions. This whole case was so pathetically transparent but I'm certain I've missed something!"

Just as Sherlock was reaching a break through, John trotted up the stairs and into the apartment.

"Sherlock one of these days you're going to HAVE to pick up your own milk from the market, I just can't get a hang of those damned chip and pin machines. Why did you need two liters of cough syrup, people were looking at me like I was barmy-"

"JOHN! mind palace! And don't be so dull."

John put away the assorted grocery's and sat in his arm chair across from Sherlock.

"Have we got a new case?"

"No, not one. Not a single one." Sherlock replied in absolute anger throwing his hands above his head.

"I can't do this John, I'm not like you. My brain needs to be challenged! They're all so boring once I've solved them, but having none at all is torture!"

"Its only been a few days." John replied rolling his eyes at Sherlock's theatrics.

"I know and I'm suffocating! Check the paper while I phone Lestrade."

"Alright Sherlock alright I'd try to convince you to perhaps take this time to sleep, or eat but I really don't want to hear you go on about all the reasons you're not really human" John stated as he walk over to the pile of mail on the end table.

"Sarcasm on a Tuesday?" Sherlock moaned.

John gathered the newspaper while Sherlock talked on his mobile. He actually couldn't remember the last time Sherlock had slept or eaten. John seemed to go on trips to the market an awful lot and all that food disappeared somehow. John actually couldn't remember that last time he had slept or eaten either, but that's how it was with Sherlock Holmes. Always rushing about from one crime scene to another so Sherlock could solve puzzles and show off. John knew it was all just a distraction for Sherlock but for him it was a way to stay connected to the war he had left. It didn't hurt that it really was a lot of fun to follow around that brilliant bastard.

John often wondered about his contribution to their investigations. Sure he was an exceptional doctor who could determine cause of death with near perfection but other than that he did very little to actually solve the cases. Maybe John could teach Sherlock not to be such a prick to everyone he met, of course he knew Sherlock couldn't help it. Every so often John would catch a glimpse of the side of Sherlock that he hid from people. The part of him that had some shred of compassion and toleration for others. It always puzzled John how he seemed to be the only one that could see it, like Sherlock didn't register him as a person and never felt the need to hide it. And maybe he could use that to his advantage.

John realized that while his thoughts were running on as they do, he hadn't actually read a single word on the paper. He flipped to the obits first to see if there were any unusual or unexplained deaths recently. A few heart attacks, several natural deaths, a couple of suicides but nothing that screamed "interesting". John shuddered at the fact that, as a doctor, he had just thought of these deaths as uninteresting, he worried that Sherlock's influence was wearing away at his empathy.*_Nah if anything it was the opposite, I just might be teaching SHERLOCK a little empathy_*John thought quickly. He then scanned the rest of the newspaper to no avail.

"Sherlock there's nothing here, did Lestrade have anything that peaked your interest?"

"No nothing."

"Okay, shall i order a take away then?"

"Can't eat now, too busy" said Sherlock returning to his mind palace.

"You've solved that last case this week, no more have popped up yet and judging by the lack of body parts in the fridge and the clean state of the kitchen table you've got no experiments on, so what could you possible be busy with?"

"Things."

"Right."

John knew when he and Sherlock had reached the point in their conversation when Sherlock would no longer be listening to a word he was saying while his brain did what ever it was it did when they weren't on a case. Now might be a good time to catch up on some reading John thought. They'd been going non-stop for a week straight and he'd barely had time to sleep let alone read a book and he was right in the middle of earth infiltrating a mountain that was quite lonely, and he'd really been wanting to get back to it. John picked up his book opened to his bookmark and began to read. Right as he was getting into it a pale hand with long fingers snatched the book from his hand, grabbed his wrist and pulled him off the sofa.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? Don't subject me to your boredom please."

"John, what do women like?"

"What?!"

Had Sherlock just asked him about women, how the hell was he supposed to respond to that.

"Why? Have you finally hit puberty and are now having strangle tingly feelings around girls? He chuckled to himself."

"Just answer the question."

"Well if you mean what do they like in men? I guess I'd say they like them not to be sociopaths first off."

"John." Sherlock said sternly

"...well I'm no expert in women."

"Come on John, you've dated loads of women. Surely you have some sort of insight."

"First of all, I have not dated LOADS of women thank you very much. Secondly, even though I've dated, that doesn't mean I have any clue what they really like or I wouldn't still be single."

"Then just tell me about your experiences. Dates, gifts, conversation. And please use detail."

"That's kind of personal."

John could tell by the confused look of Sherlock's face that he didn't understand why that information could be a personal thing. John figured he'd better give Sherlock something or he'd never get back to his book.

"Fine, um...most dates were at a nice restaurant...I went bowling once. Flowers are nice. Talked about occupations and places to go on holiday...I don't know Sherlock. What are you getting at? Do you have a date with a woman?"

Sherlock stood there in silence obviously lost in thought, of course completely ignoring John now. Just when John was about to break the silence Sherlock walked to the door, put on his coat and scarf and started down the stairs. He was almost to the bottom when he walked back up.

"Coming John?"

"Why, where are we going?"

"A case."

* * *

The taxi pulled up in front of the latest crime scene, a small red brick building that looked like a run down corner shop.

"Sherlock, I though you said Lestrade didn't have anything for us?"

"He didn't, but after thinking over our talk earlier I decided he did."

"So you're telling me we've got a case where you need to understand women, and you came to me?"

"What? no, I'm talking about the bank theft."

"I don't remember talking about that today, it was days ago."

"Of course you do, it was right after you came down from your room."

"That's when I told you I was going to the market."

"Oh."

"Do you often have conversations with me when I'm not there?"

"I don't know, when aren't you there?"

Sherlock opened the cab door and stepped out.

"Pay the man will you John."

Sherlock walked over to the police tape and was unwillingly greeted by Sergeant Donovan.

"Freak."

"Sally."

"We don't need you."

"Must we do this song and dance every time I show up."

"Yes."

"Just direct me to the victim."

Sherlock ducked under the tape and was reluctantly escorted to the body.

Immediately Sherlock could smell an overwhelming aroma of gasoline and burnt flesh the cause of which became quite clear as he approached a half-charred corpse.

"Hello Sherlock" greeted DI Lestrade.

"Recognize this bloke?"

John joined the pair after a chat with Sergeant Donovan.

"Do you know this man Sherlock?" asked John

"Yes. So do you John. This is Kreig Hamilton, the bank thief we caught last Friday."

"Yes I remember, how did he end up here?"

Lestrade chimed in.

"He was being transferred after processing. However, the car was run off the road before it reached its destination. The constable was knocked unconscious by the crash and Hamilton was gone by the time EMS arrived. There were no witnesses to the crash and Constable Avery only remembers a black SUV with no plates. The area search turned up nothing and we had no leads to go on. Now we have a witness that says he saw a black SUV with no plates drive down this street, slow down, drop a body out of the trunk, and speed off. What do you think of all this Sherlock?"

"I think you should have notified me when he disappeared, I knew something was off about that case."

"Off?"

"Why would an up and coming yuppie suddenly decide to steal millions of dollars of software design from a company he would have had no prior dealings with. How did he learn about the flash drive, the company, the people to pay off. It was too neat. I should have know then."

"Known what?"

"He was just a middle man looking for a payout."

"A middle man for who?"

"...I don't know yet." *_Someone with deep pockets and a vast network. A competitor of the security software company perhaps, but what reason would they have to risk a murder. A vicious murder at that. Tortured for information? Why would his employer need to torture him? Killed by a third-party? Too many variables._*

"May I examine the body now?"

Lestrade gestured for Sherlock to proceed and stepped away to speak with Sergeant Donovan.

Sherlock studied every inch. The legs, torso, and face were severely burned. He was only recognizable by the unique tattoo on his forearm bearing a crest with a lion and the name Hamilton.

John watched Sherlock deducing every bit of information possible. It was a marvel to watch the man at work. Sherlock's focus and observation was precision. His eyes got a look of excitement and mystery. John always liked that look. He always felt a sense of pride when Sherlock would reveal the how, who, and why with perfect accuracy. He was always completely amazed no matter how many times he saw it. Sometimes John's amazement was audible by accident but Sherlock never seemed to mind, he actually seemed to enjoy the praise.

'''''''

Sherlock would be disappointed if his faithful companion failed to compliment his skills. He didn't know why it bothered him but he always aimed to impress to be sure John would react accordingly. Which is why he was so frustrated that he could discern no definitive reasoning for this murder and body dump. Sure he now knew where Hamilton had been held, that a woman had been his torturer, and where he had been prior to his capture, and it would be sufficient information for the DI, but it wasn't enough for Sherlock who disliked not knowing everything.

Despite this, Sherlock was becoming more and more pleased as the case became more complex.

Sherlock went through all his findings with Lestrade, as did John after examining the body himself and determining that shock was the most likely cause of death (due to the torture).

"Keep me in the loop this time will you, this isn't over." said Sherlock obviously still annoyed with Lestrade.

"Will do"

The two men exited the crime scene and walked along the street to hail a cab.

"Finally! A brutal murder, a behind-the-scenes conspiracy, and an idea for a new experiment! Oh, its christmas!"

"Do you hear yourself when you speak Sherlock?" John quipped

A cab pulled over and they hurried in out of the rigid cold.

"221b Bakers Stre-"

"No," Sherlock cut off John. "I need to make a stop first. This address." he handed the driver a pink slip of paper.

"Where at Sherlock?"

"I need to speak with a contact, won't take more than a minute."

"What contact? Has it got to do with the case?"

"In a way."

"Do I know them?"

"No."

"Okay I guess." John could tell he wasn't going to get anything more out of Sherlock.

They sat it silence until they reached a lux looking apartment building. Sherlock exited instructing John to wait in the cab. He walked to the front door, exchanged some words with the doorman and disappeared into the building.

John wondered what sort of contact Sherlock could be meeting with in the upper class of London, and so late as it was half nine already. Sherlock had obviously gone up to their flat which seemed odd. He wondered if it could be related to their talk about woman earlier. Before he could give that anymore thought Sherlock emerged from the building with a woman, whom he hugged and waved goodbye to.*_Maybe not so far off, but what business would Sherlock have with a woman who wasn't a victim or a witness. Why had he referred to her as a contact? And what does she have to do with this case?_* thought John.

Sherlock entered the cab and noticed the puzzled look on John's face.

"Something on your mind John?"

John would have asked about the woman if he though Sherlock would give him a straight answer. So, he settled with a head shake. "Nah."

And back to Bakers Street they went.

* * *

Will update as soon as possible.

Please review! Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall.

Hope you enjoy! :D

* * *

John couldn't think. He just stood there staring at the red. It felt like hours but was only seconds until his mind finally began to register the scene before him.

"Sherlock!" John screamed in fear. "Oh my god Sherlock!"

John pulled out his mobile and dialed 999.

"I need an ambulance right away! 221B Bakers Street, a man has been shot!"

* * *

Earlier that morning:

It was remarkably quiet in the flat when John roused from a deep sleep. He was used to being woken up at obscene hours of the morning by Sherlock's concertos. Considering the recent developments in the case they were on, he had expected it. He glanced at the clock, it read five past nine. John felt really good this morning as he climbed out of his bed. He threw on his robe and strode down the stairs with a bounce in his step. As soon as he entered the sitting room, he immediately realized that was a mistake.

"Sherlock?! What the bloody hell have you got all over the flat?"

Sherlock emerged from the kitchen wearing goggles, gloves, an apron, and covered in chunks of red.

"Oh, um...experiment."

"Dammit Sherlock, not again, it's all over my computer. Please tell me this isn't human flesh."

"It's not human flesh."

"Right. Of course it is. Why can't you ever just do your experiments at Bart's?!"

"There's too many annoying and distracting people there."

"There's going to be one extremely annoying, distracting, and ENRAGED person here if you don't clean this up now!"

"Come on John, it's for science."

"You mean to tell me that this isn't an experiment gone wrong? You purposely threw this shit everywhere?!"

"Not exactly, but that lead to-"

"I don't care Sherlock! Clean. It. Up." John said trying to subdue his anger.

John wished that he could just go upstairs, get back into bed, and start over. Maybe he'd come down next time to discover a normal flat and a normal flatmate.

Sherlock stalked away very frustrated.

"I'm getting dressed and going out for a coffee, you had better be cleaning when I get back!"

"Hmph." Sherlock responded dismissively.

John went back up to his room, shuffled around for some warm clothes and dressed. He put on his coat and left the flat still steaming.

John walked to the café down the street lost in thought. He would never understand how Sherlock could be so smart yet be a complete idiot sometimes. When John got back he was going to sit Sherlock down and tell him he was no longer allowed to do any experiments involving human body parts in the flat. John was even convinced he would make Sherlock listen and obey him this time. Though that was not likely to happen.

John, coffee in hand and lecture thought out, headed back to the flat. He was a block away when he heard several loud pops, gunshots he thought. Immediately all of his anger was replaced with fear as he sprinted back to 221b.

There on the sidewalk in front of the flat was Sherlock lying in a pool of his own blood. A black SUV with no plates raced from the scene.

* * *

_*Sherlock stared out the window playing his violin, thinking deeply about the current case. He heard foot steps behind him but didn't turn to look knowing it was John. John said something to him that he couldn't quite make out.*_

'''''''

"Hang on Sherlock, don't you dare die on me, don't you _fucking_ die!"

'''''''

_*Sherlock could feel John's presence lingering behind him for an oddly long time. Finally, Sherlock turned to face him. John had a solemn look on his face and his pistol clenched in his left hand.*_

'''''''

"Sherlock, stay with me, you have to stay awake!"

'''''''

_*John raised the gun to Sherlock's head. Sherlock's face went blank, "I knew it would be you." he said calmly._

_Then John pulled the trigger. All went black.*_

* * *

"Lestrade, I don't know what happened. All I saw was that damned ghost SUV everyone else saw. I'm just saying it has to be connected. Sherlock's taught me that there are no coincidences." John said pacing.

"Alright, alright I'll look into it, but you and Sherlock were just brought in on this yesterday. How could Sherlock have gotten onto Hamilton's killer's radar so quickly. Sherlock didn't have any idea who they even where?"

"So we think. We know Sherlock doesn't tell us everything."

"Okay, but there's not much more I can do until I can speak with him. In the mean time we'll still be looking out for that SUV. Let me know if anything changes with Sherlock."

"If anything changes." John replied sadly.

Lestrade gave John an encouraging half-smile. "He'll be okay." Though he wasn't sure he was convinced of it himself. Lestrade then excused himself from the room.

John sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair next to Sherlock's bed. The doctor had told him there were two gunshot wounds to the chest. Both very close together and missing Sherlock's heart by only centimeters. There was so much blood loss that two transfusions had to be done.

John couldn't get the blood out of his head. It had been all over the side-walk spreading through Sherlock's raven curls and his white shirt was now crimson. John's own hands were covered and dripping from the CPR. His clothes also smeared with it. The only thing he had done since Sherlock had been stabilized was change his clothes and clean his hands rubbing them raw. He didn't want Sherlock to wake up and find him a picture from a horror movie. Though he didn't know when that would be.

Three minutes John thought. Three minutes is all it takes for brain damage to occur during clinical death and Sherlock had died for three minutes and forty-six seconds. As a doctor, John knew full recovery was all too rare. What would happen if Sherlock were to awaken completely mentally paralyzed. Even if he did recover, to what extent would it be. He could lose the very thing that made him who he is. The extraordinary intelligence that amazed John since he first meet Sherlock could be lost. Would he even be the same man anymore? This thought pierced John's heart.

John stared at an unconscious Sherlock. Even lying in a hospital bed hooked up to machines and tubes he looked breathtaking. John always noticed Sherlock's statuesque appearance but this was the first time he really saw how absolutely beautiful Sherlock was. This was the first time it had been a real possibility that he would never have seen it again.

In the time before he had been told Sherlock was stable John imagined his life without Sherlock. He pictured Sherlock's cold lifeless body lying in a coffin at his funeral. He saw himself at Sherlock's grave weeping relentlessly. John pictured his dull life without the adventures he had with his best friend. The emptiness he would feel from Sherlock's absence was enough to drive his mind to near insanity. Even now that John knew Sherlock would live he also knew he would be haunted by that life that almost was. It made him appreciate everything about Sherlock all the more, even his insane experiments. The row they had that morning seemed like a happy memory now.

As John studied his new-found appreciation of Sherlock's appearance he began to uncover something more. Something he hadn't expected. He began to think back on all their adventures, their conversations, there joking. Particularly he thought about Sherlock's laugh. It was infectious and could make John immediately forget about whatever Sherlock had angered him about. John wanted nothing more than for Sherlock to wake up right now so he could hear that baritone laugh and see the way happiness looked on his face as opposed to the vacant look he currently wore.

John felt a whole new connection to Sherlock he didn't understand. Almost losing him made John think about all the ways Sherlock had changed his life and all the things he wanted to say to him. John now realized his life would have become nothing had he not met Sherlock. He never wanted to go through the feeling of not being with Sherlock, ever.

John didn't know what to call the overwhelming feelings he was having toward is best friend. Of course he had always felt a stong sense of endearment toward Sherlock but this was something more. Something stronger.

* * *

Please review!

Next part up soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note:

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Upon his revelation John immediately felt ashamed. Though he didn't even really understand what it was that he was feeling ashamed about. He hated the fact that something he knew was probably festering inside him for a long time chose to burst to the surface at a time like this.

Right now it didn't matter. His feelings weren't going to help Sherlock but his actions would. When Sherlock woke up John would help him any way he could. Though he desperately hoped Sherlock would awaken the same genius, there was no way to know what consequences there would be.

Now he would find out.

"John?" grumbled Sherlock weakly.

John's face lightened from his deep thought when he heard Sherlock's voice.

"Yes I'm right here Sherlock."

"Why do people say that? Obviously I know where you are."

John laughed softly. So far Sherlock was his same smartass self.

"How do you feel?"

"Like death." Sherlock retorted. John found no humor in this answer.

Sherlock looked at John uneasily.

"What's wrong Sherlock?"

"No-Nothing. Just a strange dream."

"I can imagine. Do you remember what happened? It's understandable if you don't, considering..." John's voice trailed off wearily.

"I remember."

"Really? It's highly unlikely for a vict-...for someone under your circumstances to remember the last week let alone the moments before their trauma."

"I was a very memorable, strange dream." Sherlock said with a slight shudder unnoticeable by John.

"I see." Though John didn't really understand. "That's a good sign. We can go over it later. I should get the doctor in here to examine you."

"Good, fine. John?"

"Yes?"

"Uh...thanks."

"For what?"

Sherlock looked him straight in the eyes making John's heart skip a beat from the intensity.

"For not letting me die."

"Anytime. Just try not to make this a habit." John said trying to sound removed but failing miserably.

Sherlock nodded.

John went to fetch the doctor.

Sherlock blinked slowly as he took in his surroundings. Everything was fuzzy but he had expected the disorientation, it would pass. His chest felt solid and heavy but was relatively painless from the morphine. The morphine. He smiled guiltily at his old friend.

He hated hospitals. Sherlock _really_ hated hospitals. He hated how incompetent staff were, to him at least. He hated how weak people would look lying in their self-pity when he would question them for a case. Most of all he hated the look on the faces of the patient's "loved ones". They were always full of so much emotion that he didn't understand. It was the same face John currently wore. Sherlock didn't want any pity, he didn't feel like a victim. Occupational hazard he thought. So when he saw that distressed and worried expression on John's face he swelled with anger. Not at John but at the situation he'd gotten himself into. Worst of all, it was something he could not control.

Brushing off this distasteful sentiment for later, he thought back to yesterday morning, before. After John had stormed out of the flat Sherlock was extremely frustrated that he couldn't make John understand the importance of his current experiment. He certainly wasn't going to clean it up until he was good and ready. Though, that defiant instinct quickly faded as he peeled off his gloves and apron preparing to scrub everything.

John Watson was the only person that could make Sherlock feel guilty.

As a master at being emotionally removed Sherlock was always surprised, for want of a better word, that John could get to him so easily. As much as people chose not to believe it Sherlock was human and did having emotions toward things. Mostly they consisted of boredom, frustration, annoyance, and the occasional fondness for his mum, dad, and even Mycroft. The feelings that pulled at Sherlock when John was involved were entirely different and at most times uncomprehend able. John would praise his genius, and Sherlock would feel an unexplainable elation. John would get frustrated or sad about something, and Sherlock would feel the urge to fix it. John would scold him for making a mess of an experiment, and Sherlock would feel guilty.

When John left the flat cross, Sherlock wanted to run after him and make it better.

After cleaning up a bit hastily, he did. Not entirely sure what motivated him to do so he threw on his coat and scarf and practically flew down the stairs wanting to catch John before he made it back.

He opened the door, stepped out closing it behind him, and began down the sidewalk. He made it a few steps hearing a man call out something in a language Sherlock didn't know. He turned to look facing the woman he had visited the previous night. Sherlock was actually quite pleased with himself in the fact that his prediction had been correct. "I knew it would be you" he said confidently. Two shots and a chilling dream that had developed as Sherlock commit the proceedings to memory, and he was awake in hospital with John by his bedside.

John reentered the room with the doctor.

"I see you've rejoined us Sherlock" the doctor began. "I'm Dr. Fontanel , I preformed your surgery when you arrived here. You're very strong to have made it through all that and be awake so soon, and with such encouraging recollection. We'll need to run various tests immediately to start ruling out any possible complications."

Sherlock nodded passively looking at John intently.

"I'd like to run you through some simple tests and after that I'll have a nurse come in to take some samples and do a few diagnostics. Before that do you have any questions for me?"

Realizing he'd been asked a question Sherlock broke his stare and addressed the doctor. "No questions."

"Very well. Let's get started." the doctor said as he went over to Sherlock. John took a seat in one of the chairs against the wall.

The doctor asked Sherlock simple questions like his name, where he lived, what his occupation was. He performed sight and hearing examinations. All to his satisfaction until he noticed Sherlock's eyes becoming very heavy and his responses slowing.

"Are you feeling tired Sherlock?"

Sherlock blinked slowly as he began to feel light headed. "Yes a bit." he said trailing

"It's to be expected of course. Perhaps that's enough for now. I'll have to send the nurse in but I'll give you a few moments and you'll be able to rest after they are finished. Are you feeling anything more than just tired, any pain or confusion?"

"No. Just tired." Sherlock replied keeping his sentences short because of the exhaustion creeping up on him.

"Alright. I'll send the nurse right in and make sure she knows to be as swift as possible so you can get some sleep."

Sherlock shook his head approvingly and the doctor exited.

"Are you sure you're just feeling tired Sherlock. We need to know if there's something up." John said concerned as he noticed Sherlock's sudden sleepiness. It wasn't surprising and was completely normal in his condition but it was Sherlock. John knew he could be stubborn and might hide something just to spite his own body.

"Yes. I was just caught off guard. You needn't worry."

"It's not possible for me not to worry, I'm a doctor and-" John cut himself off fearing something might slip out he desperately didn't want to.

"…and?" Sherlock said eyebrows raised.

Dammit, why did Sherlock have to be so attentive John thought. Even shot and drugged the man didn't miss a thing.

"…and…you're my best friend so, yes, I will worry." there is no harm in the truth John thought.

"Am I?" Sherlock asked inquisitively.

"Yes of course you are you idiot."

Sherlock looked mildly shocked at the implication that he was an idiot but he didn't put much stock into it as it wasn't the focal point of the statement. No one had ever called Sherlock their friend before, let alone their best friend. It's strange how one extra word could change the meaning of a relationship so much. Not only did John claim Sherlock as his friend but that Sherlock was most important of all his friends.

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Oh, I see."

John wasn't surprised by Sherlock's ignorance of this fact. He knew the kind of man Sherlock was and that he probably didn't have many friends if any before John. John found himself insecurely wondering if Sherlock thought of him as his best friend.

"You're my best friend too John." Sherlock said plainly and honestly.

Question answered John thought relieved.

The nurse entered disbursing the tension. He performed his work and quickly left.

Alone again Sherlock looked over at John. "How long till I can leave?"

"Jesus Sherlock you were just shot you need time to recover."

"I can recover back at the flat."

"You need to be here under Dr. Fontanel's supervision."

"There's only one doctor I need, and it's not Dr. Fontanel ." Sherlock said groggily as he fell asleep.

John was about to reply until he realized Sherlock was sleeping. Instead he simply smiled.

* * *

Please review! Thank you!

Next part up asap.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

The next morning dawned in the hospital. It was only ten when Sherlock demanded that John go back to the flat to get some proper rest.

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, you've made that brutally clear. There's no sense in you being stuck here along with me."

"Sherlock I really don't mind, I want to be here." John urged.

"You don't need to lie John, I see that anxious look on your face and quite frankly your constant presence is very distracting."

Sherlock believed John's anxious demeanor was a result of being "cooped up" in the hospital. Sherlock didn't understand that behind John's anguished expression he was constantly worried that Sherlock's attackers might come to finish the job and he had no idea who they were or how to stop them. John paced because Sherlock's test results hadn't come back and he wasn't out of the woods yet concerning effects of his trauma and there were several more tests still to be done. Most of all John didn't leave because last time he did, he came back to find his best friend dying on the sidewalk.

"It's not a lie. And distracting you from what?"

"From thinking. I need to think clearly and you're just pacing about not doing anything useful so you might as well go somewhere else and be useless there so I can."

Although it was a lie, Sherlock knew a cruel statement like that would drive John away for at least a little while. Sherlock did find a sort of comfort from John's presence but he needed to be alone. Sherlock also notice how exhausted John looked and that he hadn't left the room long enough to eat a proper meal. Maybe he was confined to awful food and unsatisfying sleep but Sherlock was going to make sure John wasn't.

"Sherlock, I'm just-" Sherlock cut off John with a dismissive wave of his hand.

John wanted to make Sherlock understand why he didn't want to leave but his resolve was crumbling. If Sherlock didn't want him there he would leave but only for a little he told himself. No matter what he said John knew Sherlock couldn't handle this on his own this time.

"Mycroft is coming by later so I won't be alone for long anyways." Sherlock lied hoping it would convince John to go take care of himself.

"Fine." John sighed.

John put on his coat and started for the door uneasily. He opened it to leave but he wasn't going to let Sherlock have the last word this time.

"Don't over work yourself trying to solve this case right now with Mycroft. You think you're up to it but you're not okay."

Sherlock opened his mouth to try to reply but John continued.

"And listen Sherlock, me being here isn't just for you ya know. I'll be back tomorrow morning."

And with that John left.

John's words almost passed Sherlock by. He thought that John had stayed by his side out of some sense of obligation as his friend. It never crossed Sherlock's mind that the whole situation was taking a toll on John. He was John's best friend but maybe Sherlock didn't really know what that meant. Sherlock never imagined that he could matter so much to someone that his pain would be shared. His mum and dad never knew what Sherlock was really up to. Mycroft did but he had his own problems. Sherlock never had someone looking out for him like John. There was that damn guilt.

* * *

That afternoon Lestrade knocked softly at Sherlock's open room door.

"Hey Sherlock, how are you feeling today?"

"Oh God. Not you too. Stop pretending to be concerned and let's get to why you are here." Sherlock said exasperated.

"Alright alright, why am I here? I was confused when you texted me to come. On the phone we agreed you could come in when they released you."

"Don't be absurd, that was for John's benefit. He was practically glued to our conversation. I will tell you everything I know now, I've managed to get him away for a while."

"Why? You two always work together. And he is worried about you Sherlock, probably more than you realize."

Lestrade was right, Sherlock didn't realize just how much. Sherlock glossed over the remark and went on. "I have my reasons. You are not to tell John anything we talk about understand?"

"Last time I checked I was the Detective Inspector here."

Sherlock looked at the Lestrade with a "you're kidding me" expression.

"Fine, begin when you're ready."

Sherlock told Lestrade everything, information he had deduced about the shooting, about the woman, and pointed him in the direction of the culprits.

"Just like that? You've figured all this out in the 48 hours you've been conscious?"

"No, before that. I was frustratingly stunted at first but after a successful experiment I was able to put the pieces together. Unfortunately I underestimated the lengths she and her associates were willing to go to cover their tracks." Sherlock said with disappointment in himself.

"If you've already solved it then why keep John out of the loop?"

"I need him to think I'm still working on it while I pursue something I know he won't approve of."

"Sherlock I don't want to help you do something stupid and get yourself shot again."

"I'm not asking your permission. You'll do this if you want to protect John. That is what police do isn't it, protect people?"

"You're people."

"No I'm not."

Lestrade looking hesitant gave in. "There never is much sense in arguing with you, just promise me if this thing you're pursuing gets dangerous you'll bring John or I in."

"Promise." Sherlock said lying.

"Well then I've got some searches and arrests to preform...Be careful Sherlock." Lestrade didn't miss the irony in his warning to the man lying in the hospital bed, shot.

Lestrade left conflicted but he knew Sherlock could handle himself, or at least he convinced himself to believe it.

Sherlock looked at the vase of roses on the counter next to him.

Flashback:

They had arrived the evening before. He had been extremely annoyed that Mycroft had sent him flowers. Flowers were meant to cheer up the sickly. Sherlock wasn't one for cheer nor was he sickly. Mycroft called around seven that morning and denied having sent them. Sherlock hung up becoming very interested in them now. He noticed the arrangement of red and white together which was usually frowned upon for hospital patients. The superstition suggested that they signify blood and bandages when placed together, an omen of death. He reached for the card in the middle.

On the front in plain typed script:

_Remind me to screen my thugs better next time. Needless to say he won't get the chance to botch another hit. Maybe these flowers will finish the job for me._

_-M_

Sherlock's face immediately sank into a grimace. Now he knew the true scope of the situation. He felt an overwhelming wave of dread and excitement. It was only a matter of time.

Sherlock placed the card face down on the table. It was several moments before he notice there was something written, hastily it seemed, on the back.

_We should talk. xx_

_-JM_

For the first time in a long time Sherlock was completely perplexed. The messages where obviously from two different sources. What did it mean? What was Moriarty up to? Sherlock knew there was only one way to find out. He tucked away the card so John wouldn't see it and grabbed his mobile.

_Tonight. You know the place._

_-SH_

Send.

Sherlock's phone buzzed. Good, the number still worked.

_I'll count the seconds. xx_

_-JM_

* * *

A little shorter this time but it felt right to end the chapter here. Finally some Jim coming up :)

Please Review! Thank you!

Next part up ASAP!


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note:

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

It was only a simple matter of slipping out of the hospital after last rounds. However, the task was made painfully difficult by the fact that Sherlock was almost doubled over with pain from every step he took. Best take the morphine he thought. A couple syringes would suffice. Honestly, Sherlock didn't know what to expect when he arrived at the pool. It didn't matter, that was part of the alluring danger.

After some cat like maneuvering Sherlock was out of the hospital, as easy as he had expected. He waved for a taxi and quickly but careful climbed in once one pulled over. As agonizing as it had been to put on, Sherlock was thankful that Mycroft had set a suit, shirt, and shoes aside for him in his room. He wouldn't have to worry about explaining the situation to the cabbie.

As he sat it the silence, John crept into Sherlock's mind as he thought about what he might be doing right now. Hopefully sleeping though Sherlock suspected John would be too worried to sleep well. Sherlock then thought about what John would say if he knew what Sherlock was doing right now. He would lecture him about the last time they encountered Moriarty. He would go on about how Sherlock was always taking unnecessary risks just to feel clever. Chances are John would have talked him out of it, which is why it was imperative that he not know anything. This wasn't an unnecessary risk, Sherlock needed to know what sort of madness was in store for him this time in order to stay ahead of it.

It was a short ride. Sherlock stepped out of the cab and off it drove, leaving him alone on a dim sidewalk. Cautiously he entered the building but without hesitation.

Sherlock immediately spotted him despite the darkness. There was Moriarty standing on the far end of the pool his back turned, though he no doubt heard Sherlock's arrival.

As confidently as he could Sherlock walked over to his certain destruction.

"Ahh Sherlock! Take your time. You look a little pale." Jim said with a smile.

"You don't look so good yourself." Sherlock snapped in response. It was true. Jim seemed on edge but it was so carefully controlled only Sherlock Holmes would notice.

Jim chuckled at the banter. "Do sit Sherly. Wouldn't want you to pass out before we've discussed our business."

The pressure in his chest was making Sherlock a bit dizzy and nauseous as he stood. Sherlock sat on a bench nearby immediately feeling some relief. He had administered the morphine discreetly in the cab just before arriving which was holding back most of the pain quite effectively.

Jim remained standing, pacing a bit.

"I'm listening." Sherlock said frankly wanting to get straight to the point. The two men where certainly not ones for small talk.

Jim, looking smug, began. "I pride myself in being a man of my word. At our last meeting I told you my plans for you."

"I remember you attempting to blow us all up and then very curiously cowering away into the shadows."

"Cowering? Don't be ridiculous. As if I would have allowed it to get that far. I was simply having some fun making the great Sherlock Holmes sweat. And as for the interruption, well, you're not the most important thing in my life."

"Yes I am." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. "I imagine you wish to tell me that you didn't send the hit out on me? I know you'd be more imaginative than that. And you certainly wouldn't have missed. Which lead me to the conclusion it had not been arranged by you. Did you lose control of one of your pawns perhaps? Not quite the master of manipulation you claim to be?"

Ignoring the insult, Jim replied. "I'm not done with you yet Sherlock. It is in my great interest for you to remain breathing. For now. I had hoped you would see the complete lack of passion in a simple drive by."

"So you've asked me to meet you so you could, what? Warn me?"

"Were it that simple Sherlock…Like you, I too am not the sole owner of genius among my family."

Sherlock's face lit up with understanding. It all made sense now, and it was worse than he could have imagined but far more intriguing. "Of course." Sherlock said with a sigh. "That explains the note…Big brother stepping on your toes?"

Jim grimaced. "Yes." He sat next to Sherlock on the bench with a huff. "He's always stealing my play things and breaking them."

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh, though painful. Jim Moriarty's older brother was just as intrusive as Sherlock's own.

They sat there in silence for several minutes. Sherlock pondered the ramifications of this new information. Two Moriartys bent on destroying him. One quickly and one slowly. At least he had choices.

Sherlock realized Jim was looking at him intensely.

"So." Sherlock broke the silence. "What do you plan to achieve?"

Jim stood. "James is not like me Sherlock. He has no respect for the game like you and I. He will try again. And again, and again until he kills you or breaks you beyond repair."

"I can handle myself."

"Normally I would entirely agree. But we are beyond normal I assure you." Jim paused as a smirk formed on his lips. "Many have underestimated my brother's talents for violence, none survived. I loath his methods, so ordinary, but he gets results."

"Why? Don't tell me I'm the rope in your game of psychopath tug-of-war."

"It would be a lie to say that wasn't a factor. But it's more than that and you have only yourself to blame. You've made waves in the world of crime and now you will reap what you sew. Your recent activities have put you on his radar. I did so enjoy watching as you broke down his organization. I am truly your biggest fan."

"You would appear as an ally in order to gain my favor. Later exploiting it to achieve your ultimate agenda which is not unlike the elder Moriarty's."

"Elementary. And you will be powerless to refuse me."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed. The sooner you fall to your knees and beg for my help the easier it will be for you Sherlock…and those around you."

John. The implication made Sherlock's stomach turn. "You know full well that will never happen."

"I know you believe that but in time you will see."

Sherlock paused putting the pieces together. "Please Jim will you fix it for me. Brilliant. Make the consulting detective need a consulting criminal. The flaw in your plan of course lies in its solution. If you could control your brother you wouldn't have come to me. You need me. He's been branching out beyond his station hasn't he? While he holds a stake in the game you'll never be able to rig the board."

Jim's smile turned blank. "Perceptive as always." His face lit up again with excitement. "So, it looks like I need you and you need me. What a couple we would make."

"Don't flatter yourself. I work alone."

"Aw, John would be so heartbroken to hear you say that."

Sherlock hated hearing John's name come from such a vile mouth. He wouldn't let Moriarty, either of them for that matter, use John as a string to be plucked on their web of insanity.

"What do I care what John would feel. And I don't need you, but I will help you. Let's go to Scotland Yard right now and explain the situation. I'm sure the fine men and women there would be able to solve your problem."

Jim laughed sarcastically. His mobile buzzed lightly and his face became serious as he looked down at it. "Think it over Sherlock. I'll await your call." he said as he walked over to the exit.

Sherlock could easily deduce the message had been from James. "Big brother's always watching." he quipped.

Jim turned to exit pushing his back into the door. "You would know. I'll be seeing you Sherlock." he said with a smile then left.

"Count on it. Under conditions you may not find favourable." Sherlock called out before the door shut.

Sherlock's breathing quickened from the steady controlled pace he had kept it at. He was beginning to feel the pain more strongly than before. This whole being shot thing was horribly inconvenient he thought. Sherlock wouldn't be able head into battle in his current condition. None the less, he already began formulating certain measures to be taken in light of recent developments.

Sherlock was lost in thought for almost an hour sitting alone by the dark swimming pool. As the throbbing in his chest became more intense his mind began to protest no matter how hard he urged it to cooperate. It was time to get back to the hospital before he would no longer be able to without an ambulance.

* * *

Sherlock slipped in through the ER and made his way carefully back to his room. At one point he threw on a lab coat and surgical mask to get past a group of doctors. He was stopped a few times to be asked directions to the canteen, which he gracefully obliged to avoid detection. It was going well as he rounded the corner to his room. He removed his disguise and entered shutting the door behind him silently.

Sherlock turned and was startled, more than usual do to the increasing dizziness, to see John sitting in the chair against the wall.

"Oh look you're back. Have a nice evening out?" John said coldly.

"John, I- thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow morning? It's past eleven, visitors aren't even allowed at this hour how did you-"

"Seriously?!" John exclaimed now standing. "Bloody hell Sherlock! I was back at the flat trying to sleep but was kept awake worrying if you were okay and that you were alone. So, I pulled some strings with the nurse to stay here tonight only to find you weren't alone at all! You weren't even here! Where the hell have you been?!" John said furiously.

"I had to go out."

Sherlock removed his coat, scarf, suit jacket, and shoes and sat on the bed. This would be a longer conversation and he was struggling to focus.

"Go out? You are in no condition to 'go out'. Are you trying to kill yourself?! Where did you go that was so important?"

Sherlock's mind raced to come up with a reasonable excuse. A million stories began to write in his head any one of which would have fooled John enough. He was ready to explain it all away when he realized he couldn't. He had so desperately wanted to keep John out of the mess with Moriarty given what had happened last time, but Sherlock knew he owed John the truth. John had stayed by Sherlock's side through all of it before and his life was in as much danger through his association. Sherlock briefly marveled at his inability to lie to John, as he so easily did with others.

Sherlock had been silent for a while staring at John making him very anxious as he waited for an answer.

"Sherlock." John urged.

Sherlock snapped back into reality. He slowly looked down knowing John was about to erupt into fury.

"I met with Jim Moriarty." Sherlock said flatly.

John's face turned expressionless. "What?"

"You remember yesterday evening I received flowers. Attached was this card." Sherlock handed John the note. "Upon reading it, it became clear who was involved in my…assault. However, as you can see the contradicting messages sparked many questions that I needed answered. So I arranged to meet him."

"Jesus Sherlock…That's why you insisted I go back to the flat. What if something would've happened?! You- You could've been hurt. Or killed. Who knows what that psychopath could've-. You shouldn't have gone alone. You should have told me!"

"You would have tried to stop me."

"Damn right I would have stopped you! If something would have happened to you…You can't just keep running around like you're invincible! Especially now that-" John froze.

"Now that what?"

_Now that I've become so hopelessly attached to you. Now that I have had to imagine losing you and couldn't bear it. Now that I need you. _"I- I just mean you've just experienced a traumatic injury and you have no business risking your life like that." John said quickly.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed unconvinced but let it pass. "I did what I had to do." Sherlock said laying back.

"You did what you wanted to do, not thinking about the consequences."

"I've always done what I thought was right. I've always had to decide for myself what risks are worth taking. I've been on my own for a long time and had only myself to rely on. I made the decision to meet Moriarty alone to protect you."

Sherlock's words hurt. "You're not on your own anymore. And you don't need to protect me. What must you see me as to think I couldn't handle this with you?" John said sadly.

"John-"

"Forget it Sherlock." John wanted to hear the answer to his question but it wasn't about him. He sat down pulling the chair by the bed. "Just tell me what happened." he said with a sigh.

* * *

Please Review! Thank you!

Next part up ASAP


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note:

Current Timeline: A few months before The Fall.

I really enjoyed this chapter, I hope you do too! :)

* * *

"I really don't think this is a good idea Sherlock, you need more time."

"I haven't got any more time. I need to get back to work."

"I may not be a genius like you Sherlock but don't insult what intelligence I do have. This isn't about that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he sat on the bed to put his shoes on. "Alright so it's not but I just can't lie around here anymore waiting."

"What do you expect to happen by leaving the hospital? Do you think Moriarty will call you up and say 'oh good, you're out of hospital now I can try and kill you again'." John said with dark humor.

"Of course not, he wouldn't have to wait for me to be out of the hospital for that. I need to get out of here and stretch my legs. It's been a week and a half."

"You're still not able to manage the pain without the morphine, and there's no way they're giving you any of that to take home and self-administer.

"That's what I have you for." Sherlock said with a sly smile.

"Oh and you just assume I'll be your live in doctor tending to your every need when you should still be here."

"Well…yes. Why else do you think I keep you around?" Sherlock said teasing.

John sighed resigned to his role because he knew Sherlock was resolved to discharge himself. John also knew he'd be right there taking care of Sherlock even if he was being an irresponsible, stubborn, arse.

Sherlock signed the appropriate papers and he and John left the hospital grabbing a cab back to Bakers St.

* * *

"Ahh. I feel better already!" Sherlock exclaimed stepping into the flat taking off his coat and scarf.

Sherlock hurried up the stairs, too quickly he realized becoming very winded upon reaching the top. He'd have to remember to take it slow, at first at least. Sherlock grabbed John's laptop, sat in his chair, and began browsing through the new cases that had been piling up.

John was usually very annoyed that Sherlock insisted on using his laptop all the time. Just this once he'd let it pass as he was secretly happy to see Sherlock sitting in his chair looking through emails like normal.

"I'll make some tea." John said smiling subconsciously.

John put the water on. Neither he nor Sherlock had had a substantial meal that mourning so he shuffled through the cupboards for some biscuits or muffins. God bless Mrs. Hudson for always doing a bit of shopping for them. He finished the tea, made up a tray with some jam, and brought it out and sat it on the coffee table.

John actually laughed a bit at this extremely domestic action. Maybe being back at the flat wouldn't be such a bad thing he thought. His momentary ignorance faded as he remembered. There was still the looming threat that Moriarty, either of them as it was, could come in at any moment and send them right back to the hospital, or worse.

John sat with a slump and poured himself a cup, staring into it contemplating what was in store.

Sherlock looked up from the laptop momentarily noticing John's solemn look.

"Normally I'm the one that sits silently lost in thought." Sherlock said inquisitively.

"What are we going to do?" John asked frankly.

Sherlock knew exactly what, or rather who, John was referring to. "We are going to solve cases."

"Jim said his brother would try again, and we have no idea how or when. What's even more insane is that I say Jim Moriarty like he's even a reliable source. How do you know this isn't just a rouse to confuse you?"

Sherlock shut the laptop. "It's not."

"Alright then. So there's two Moriartys. Jim and his older brother James. James is trying to kill you for who knows why. And Jim wants to offer you protection for who knows why. Both are complete psychopaths. Either way what's the plan? We can't just go on like normal until something happens."

"You shouldn't allow this to disrupt your life. When there's a major play in motion I'll know."

"I know you're not one for waiting Sherlock, if there's something going on, some angle you're working-"

"John. Trust me." Sherlock said looking straight into John's eyes.

John trusted Sherlock Holmes, sometimes to a fault. That was how he made it to this place, entangled in the web of criminals. But Sherlock had led him out of the melancholy civilian life he had been facing into the battleground of London's streets where he could be the soldier he was. John would always trust Sherlock Holmes, despite any faults.

John couldn't help but feel enslaved by his trust in Sherlock, now more than ever. And therefore, being simply asked for trust by the man meant more.

"Of course." John said suppressing the true emotion behind it.

They held each other's gaze for longer than either of them realized until John sheepishly looked down again at his tea.

For now the topic would rest.

Sherlock stood up from his chair and strode over to his web of notes, evidence, and pictures on the wall. He stood there staring and thinking.

John finished his tea and announced he was going to take a shower which, naturally, Sherlock didn't register.

Sherlock shifted through his mind from case to case, like usual solving most of them without ever having met the client. Those were consequently pushed aside as unimportant. He then moved on to the slightly more intriguing ones and made a note to set up meetings to learn more. There where one or two in particular that stood out from the rest and he decided those would be their next venture.

Sherlock looked around slightly disoriented. Where's John he thought. He heard the dull patter of the shower and remembered. He shook it off and back into his mind palace he dove.

He connected lines in his mind from place to place. He scanned through evidence and pictures. He began developing an idea for an exciting new series of experiments.

Again Sherlock looked around. John's been gone a while? Hasn't he? No, never mind he thought again remembering.

It went on like this for the next few hours. Sherlock would be deep in thought and suddenly there he was, John. Where was John? In the kitchen. What was he doing? Reading a book. Something would remind Sherlock of John and distract him. It was so frustrating and he couldn't make it stop. Why was this happening?

Surely it couldn't just be John's physical presence that was distracting, it never had before. He'd need to test this theory. Perhaps some time alone in the flat would allow him to concentrate.

"We're out of milk." Sherlock said louder than he meant to.

John looked up from typing on his blog. He was completely confused by this outburst as Sherlock had been standing in the same spot for the last four hours. He hadn't gone near the fridge.

"What?"

"Milk. We need some. Can you go to the market?" Sherlock said not looking away from the wall.

"Now?"

"Yes please."

John didn't understand but Sherlock had just said please, which was an extremely rare occurrence. He certainly wasn't going to discourage him from saying it in the future by declining.

"Um…okay I guess." John closed his laptop and put on his coat. "I'll be back soon then, want anything else while I'm there?"

Sherlock actually did require a few items for his latest experiment idea. John would ask what they were for and that would lead to a longer conversation and that wasn't the goal he thought. One experiment at a time.

"No nothing else for me."

"Alright then."

John left the flat and Sherlock was finally alone.

* * *

An hour or so passed until Sherlock heard the door open downstairs. Interesting, he thought. Minus one minor incident, Sherlock had managed to stay on track with his thoughts. What did this mean he wondered?

"Sorry I took so long, I grabbed some take away on the way back." John called up the stairs.

John hauled some grocery bags and a brow package of take-out food up the stairs and set it on the 'clearish' table.

"I don't care what you are doing, stop now and eat something." John said firmly.

Sherlock groaned but surprisingly obediently joined John in the kitchen and began to clear the table.

John noticed Sherlock moving rather slowly and almost wincing a bit with each action. "Sherlock are you in pain?"

Sherlock tried to better conceal his pained movements. "No more than to be expected."

"This isn't going to work unless you tell me when you're hurting. I need to know in case it's something serious. Unless you'd prefer to go back to the hospital" John said in his best commanding officer voice.

Sherlock sighed. "Alright yes. But I can't think with the morphine. It's only good for…" Sherlock realized perhaps now wasn't the time to reminisce. "I can handle it."

"Yeah, until you pass out. Then you really won't be able to think." John grabbed the pill bottle from his 'secret hiding place', which Sherlock knew all about. He knocked out the pills and held them out. "I never thought I'd say this, but take the damn pills."

Sherlock smirked a bit and John shot him an unamused look.

"Fine. Doctor." He said reluctantly accepting them. Sherlock was curiously captivated by John's 'take charge' attitude. He considered being wounded more often.

They ate in silence as usual. Sherlock ate his entire portion for once, of course not realizing how hungry he had gotten. John cleared the containers and Sherlock went to shower.

Just as John had finished tidying up in the kitchen and sat in his chair there was a knock at the door. John sighed and started down the stairs. _Bloody client probably_. He really needed to post an 'out of office' sign after eight he thought.

He opened the door revealing a tall woman with hair up neat, ruby red pumps, and lipstick to match. She looked like she had just stepped off the cat-walk. There was something else, John thought he recognized her but he couldn't quite remember from where.

"Ehem…Hello?" said the woman impatiently.

John hadn't realized he'd been staring. "Yes, hello sorry. What can I do for you? Are you here to see Sherlock Holmes?"

"Why yes I am. I do apologies for visiting at such a late hour. May I come in?"

"Yes of course. He's just washing up I'm sure he'll be out soon. You can follow me." John led her up and into the sitting room. "Please take a seat anywhere you like. Would you like some tea?"

"That would be lovely." She replied sitting in Sherlock's chair.

John smiled and turned to the kitchen then realized he had forgotten his manners. "I'm sorry I'm John Watson. I don't think I got your name?"

"Oh yes, Ms. Moran."

"Pleasure to meet you Ms. Moran. Tea will be right up."

She smiled politely in acknowledgement. John busied himself making up a pot for the three of them.

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom wearing slacks and a t-shirt. He walked into his bedroom not taking notice of the woman. "John do you know where I put the bible. I've just thought of something." Sherlock yelled down the hallway.

John smiled wearily at Ms. Moran and quickly scurried toward Sherlock's room. "We've got a guest Sherlock, said she's here to see you so client I assume." He said quietly.

"Oh. Excellent"

Sherlock walked down the hallway to meet the latest client. It would make for a perfect end to his first day back, assuming it was an interesting one. His attitude could've almost been mistaken for excitement. He reached the sitting room and suddenly stopped.

John looked at Sherlock confused. Obviously he had recognized Ms. Moran. And then it hit him, this was the woman Sherlock had gone to see the night before the shooting. He didn't know what to make of the two glaring it seemed at each other.

"Awfully bold of you to come here alone." Sherlock said condescendingly.

"Whoever said I was alone?" Ms. Moran replied confidently.

"Oh I'm well aware of the men you've got park outside but they will be of little use in here."

"That's why I've brought this." The woman pulled out a small handgun from her handbag and aimed it at Sherlock.

John's eyes flashed as he took a step toward Sherlock defensively, but he was waved off. "I'm sensing I've missed something." John said cautiously.

"This is Sasha Moran. James Moriarty's right hand. The woman who led the failed mission to kill me. Tell me was he very cross with you?"

"That can easily be corrected now." She spat.

"We both know that's not why you've come."

Moran's eyes narrowed with annoyance. "Very well. This was merely for your compliance." She stood. "Dr. Watson, if you'll come here please."

John looked at Sherlock for guidance but Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the woman. He wasn't afraid, he was a soldier before he was Sherlock's blogger. He confidently walked over to stand in front of Ms. Moran.

Sherlock had no way of knowing what was about to happen or how to get the gun out of the madwoman's hand. Dozens of scenarios played out in his mind, all of them ending in either he or John being shot. He needed to get control of the situation.

She raised the gun to John's chest. "That's close enough." She placed a small vial on the end table. "Pick it up." She instructed.

John eyed the small vial suspiciously. It contained a clear liquid.

"Now if you please." She insisted

John hesitantly picked it up.

"Open the vial and drink."

"What? What is it?" John demanded.

She remained silent.

Sherlock's eyes widened. Was he about to witness his best friend be poisoned? He had to stop this, but he didn't know how.

"What is it?" Sherlock now demanded.

Ms. Moran smiled. "It's just a little incentive. You see Mr. Holmes, my boss has decided that he may have acted a tad rashly before. You have utility. This here is a rare toxin that becomes lethal within three days if the antidote is not administered. That's where you come in…You will be contacted with instructions for a job he wants completed and in return John Watson will live."

"What if I refuse to drink it?" John said with as much courage as he could muster. "You should just shoot me now, I won't allow Sherlock to become your pawn on my behalf-"

"John-"Sherlock tried to stop him but John continued.

"And you've already said you haven't come here to kill him, which means you aren't authorized to."

Sherlock looked down sadly, he knew what was coming next.

"You should leave the deductions to the detective…Quite the contrary in fact. If you won't play the game than we have no use for Mr. Holmes. If you don't drink, I've been instructed to kill him right here, right now." She turned her gun again on Sherlock. "What will it be?"

John looked at Sherlock who looked like he was about to explode from the thoughts desperately trying to work a way out of this. John knew he had no choice. Never mind himself, this would be Sherlock's best chance of survival.

"John, no. John, don't. Please, you don't need to do this." Sherlock pleaded though he knew the alternative was his own death.

"We'll figure it out Sherlock, we always do."

John opened the top. He chuckled much to Sherlock's surprise. "It was a pretty good day, other than this."

John tipped back the vial and swallowed.

* * *

Please Review! Thank you!

Next part up ASAP.


End file.
